DISCLAIMER:: I do NOT own these characters. They belong exclusively to J. K. Rowling. The song does not belong to me, either. It's "Always" by Bon Jovi.

Draco looked around. He knew he only had a few hours before his resolve broke. He waved his wand and packed everything as quickly as he could. Then, he Flooed to the Leaky Cauldron. Draco paid the man for his room, then carried his things upstairs. He sat on the bed for a moment to gather his thoughts. Immediately, they shifted to Hermione.

This Romeo is bleeding
But you can't see his blood
It's nothing but some feelings
That this old dog kicked up

Draco cursed his weakness. How could he have let her get to him like that? He was a Malfoy, after all, and she was…she was perfect. He buried his face in his hands. He had known that he’d have to leave sooner or later, for both their sakes. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d done something terribly wrong.

It's been raining since you left me
Now I'm drowning in the flood

It had been almost a week since he’d left. Draco looked like a mess. He hadn’t bothered to shave or shower; he had no one to impress. He’d left the woman he loved because she wasn’t his. The thought never even entered his mind to go out and try to love again.

He was sitting at a corner table, drinking his morning coffee, trying as hard as he could to keep his mind off the brown-haired goddess who had stolen his heart.

“Hey! Malfoy!” Draco looked up indifferently. There stood the last person he wanted to see--Harry Potter. Draco couldn’t even muster up the strength to put on his trademark smirk. He merely sighed, awaiting the biting remarks that were sure to come.

“Geez, Malfoy, you look like hell. Is Parkinson starving you now, too?” the raven-haired boy sneered. Harry was surprised when Draco didn’t return the insult. Indeed, he acted as though he didn’t even hear the remark. Draco was too depressed to care.

You see I've always been a fighter
But without you I give up

Back up in his room, Draco sat, a blank sheet of parchment in front of him. A bottle of ink sat next to it. He was twirling a quill absently. He had planned to write a letter to Hermione, telling her that she needn’t worry about writing to him--he would not be returning. Instead he sat there, not sure of what he should say. He wanted to tell her how much he loved her, but he didn’t know how.

Now I can't sing a love song
Like the way it's meant to be
Well, I guess I'm not that good anymore
But baby, that's just me

Taken with sudden inspiration, he jotted down a few simple words. Then, he sealed it and gave it to his owl.

“Take this to Hermione. Don’t wait for a reply. And make sure that Weasel doesn’t get his filthy paws on it.”

I will love you, baby
Always
And I'll be there forever and a day
Always
I'll be there till the stars don't shine
Till the heavens burst and
The words don't rhyme
And I know when I die, you'll be on my mind
And I'll love you
Always

Draco looked around his small room. The walls were bare. He hadn’t even opened his trunk yet. He was still fighting in his mind over whether or not he should move back home. Whether or not he should go back to her. He looked back to his trunk, sitting at the foot of his bed. He found himself drawn to the trunk, and before he knew it, he’d opened the lid and was holding a picture frame in his hand. It was a picture of Hermione. His Hermione. He’d begged her to let him take it the first night she came to his house. She was lying on his bed, wearing one of his button-down dress shirts and a grin. Her cheeks were slightly pink--she looked absolutely adorable. Looking down at the picture, Draco was drawn into her milk chocolate eyes. Even though it was only a picture, Hermione still got to him. Her voice beckoned to him from the back of his mind.

Now your pictures that you left behind
Are just memories of a different life
Some that made us laugh, some that made us cry
One that made you have to say goodbye

Draco lay on his bed, staring at the picture of his love. He fought back tears as he thought of all those nights he’d held her in his arms. He thought of how her smile always seemed to light up the room, how it always made him feel like nothing could go wrong. He thought of how her laughter sounded like rain on the window, like bells chiming softly. He thought of the way he’d run his fingers through her hair while she slept. He remembered the look of absolute innocence she’d give him when she first woke up in the morning.

He closed his eyes against the rising feeling of dread. Draco knew in his heart that he loved her, but he also knew that she was Weasley’s, not his. She would never be his, and that knowledge alone made him want to curl up and die. But the thought of hurting her with his death, and the hope that, somehow, some way, he’d see her again kept him from doing anything stupid.

God he loved her.

What I'd give to run my fingers through your hair
To touch your lips, to hold you near
When you say your prayers try to understand
I've made mistakes, I'm just a man

It was all he could do not to punch the wall. He wanted her so badly! And that Weasel, that redheaded sidekick to Boy Wonder, was the one who had her. And why? Because Weasley had Saint Potter’s permission, because Weasley had known her for years, because Weasley was the one everyone said she was destined to be with. And he, Draco Malfoy, was ignored. No, he was more than ignored. He was shunned outright. All because of his asshole father. Simply because Scarhead didn’t approve of him. What did he know, anyway? Mr. I’m-so-perfect-that-everyone-should-kiss-my-ass. Just the thought of Potter made Draco’s stomach turn. Because thinking of Potter made him think of the Weasel.

That Weasel. That filthy Weasel had his hands on Hermione. On his Hermione. The thought of that…that…thing’s hands on Hermione’s flawless, ivory skin made Draco’s blood boil. He didn’t deserve her! If only she knew...if only Draco had told her how he felt…but now it was too late.

When he holds you close, when he pulls you near
When he says the words you've been needing to hear
I'll wish I was him 'cause those words are mine
To say to you till the end of time

Yeah, I will love you baby
Always
And I'll be there forever and a day
Always

Draco sat on his bed and stared at her picture. He trailed his fingers lightly over the glass of the frame, tracing the delicate cheekbones of her beautiful face. He would do anything for her. If she’d asked him to run away with her, he would. If she asked him to kill himself, if she told him that that would make her happy, he would gladly have taken his own life. And she was completely unaware of his feelings…

If you told me to cry for you
I could
If you told me to die for you
I would
Take a look at my face
There's no price I won't pay
To say these words to you

He lay on his bed and stared at the ceiling. It had to be somewhere around midnight, but he couldn’t sleep. Thoughts of his lost love kept him awake. He sat up straight in bed. He had to see her. He had to see her one last time. Quickly, he reached for his clothes. As he dressed, a plan formed in his mind. He would tell her. He would finally tell her how he felt, how much he cared for her. And then, he’d let her choose. If she still chose Weasley, then Draco would leave, and he’d never see or speak to her again. But if she chose him, oh, Draco’s heart raced at the possibility. With her, he could, no, he would be happy. He would be truly happy.

Well, there ain't no luck
In these loaded dice
But baby if you give me just one more try
We can pack up our old dreams
And our old lives
We'll find a place where the sun still shines

He looked one last time in the mirror. He looked more like the Draco Malfoy that he knew, the one that Hermione would recognize. Taking a deep breath, he summoned up every ounce of courage in his body. And, with a loud *pop*, he was gone.

And I will love you, baby
Always
And I'll be there forever and a day
Always
I'll be there till the stars don't shine
Till the heavens burst and
The words don't rhyme
And I know when I die, you'll be on my mind
And I'll love you
Always